I arched a brow as she maneuvered to hold the orchid and reach into her over-the-shoulder purse. She pulled out a…cake pop?
“It’s the best I could do on such short notice.” She held out the rose gold frosted orb. “It’s also not really a gift, because I just took it off of one of the tables so…” She trailed off on a wrinkled brow, gaze drifting away.
I snatched it from her grip, leaning forward with a grin. “How does Lottie du Lac know I have a thing for sweets?”
She blushed. Shit, I like that. It was hard to get a girl like Lottie to blush. Too much fucking training.
“I don’t, I just…thought you might like it.”
I turned it over.
“I’ll think of you now when I see it.” She lifted the orchid for emphasis, chewing her lower lip. “I’ll put it next to my bed.”
Was she flirting with me?
“Is your bed still covered in Beanie Babies?”
Her eyes found mine, bright and crinkled with a close-mouthed smile. Of course it was close-mouthed. Girls like Lottie were taught young never to smile with teeth.
I pictured Snitch with her rare full-toothed smiles, when her pink tongue pushed against the top two teeth. One I’d just gotten graced with earlier, because she’d found me something new about the girl in front of me, the one who should have my full fucking attention.
“You remember that?” Lottie asked, cheeks full with her smile.
“Yeah,” I said, voice rough. “I remember.”
She looked back at the velvety purple petals. “You were always such a Prince Charming. You remembered the littlest things. Did my homework—”
I cut her off on a barking laugh. “Whoa, that wasn’t supposed to leave your bedroom. You’re gonna ruin my rep, Lottie. What’s gonna happen when people find out Grayson Crowne was doing a girl’s homework for a chance between her legs? I’ll sound like fucking Newt.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled. “That’s not why you did it.”
I shrugged. Maybe not.
Her dark-brown gaze found mine again. “You’re Prince Charming, Grayson. I don’t know why you pretend to be a rogue.”
She looked like she wanted to say more, but silence swallowed us.
So I took the plunge.
“It’s always been you, Lottie,” I said. “You’re it for me.”
Her brow furrowed, and I saw the part of her struggling with what I’d just said. Upset?
Fuck.
It was so hard to tell what these girls felt—well, any of us born into this life…really. Lottie was like my sister—not Abigail. Abigail apparently burned that part of her DNA—the dishonesty, the mask that wove its way into our blood. My older sister, Gemma.
“You left me, Grayson!” she said, upset, but still never raising her voice. After a deep exhale, she followed with, “Do you remember that day at Rosey?”
I groaned. “How could I forget?”
A small smile broke through her frown. “I always thought it was sweet.”
And that right there is why Charlotte du Lac is different.
“The next day I went back to our spot in the book stacks and you’d brought someone else. You were with another girl.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. I was a teenager, embarrassed. I had no fucking clue she was there. I didn’t do it to hurt her.